"This is my first night back since the renovations, and I must say that chap from Rookridge has done a splendid job. A small miracle considering he'd recently lost three toes and two family members.

But what was I to do? He wouldn't be persuaded to abandon the construction of some worthless temple to aid me in my time of crisis. And his predecessor had simply the worst taste in furnishings. I was generous to let him live as long as I did.

Now that awful scent of burned wood and flesh has dissipated, perhaps I shall throw a party. Ursula and Penelope will be my guests of honour. Shame Andrew crumbled to ashes in the fire. What a sweet young fellow... But such a heavy sleeper."

A Page from Reaver's Diary (2/5):

"It's good to be home after these three last months at sea. My ship barely made it back to port under the weight of such spoils, and then only after we disposed of those less valuable.

It was a pity to see my new brides sink into the ocean. But their sizeable attributes rendered them unfeasibly heavy. And I'd already tossed all non-essential crew members into the ever undulating arms of the kraken.

I believe my most cherished memory from this voyage has to be the discovery island far to the south of Albion, among waters of an indescribable blue. There, men and women consort in ways even I found slightly objectionable.

They have little need for clothing under that gentle sun, and their fondness for a syrupy liqueur made from an obscenely-shaped fruit made it almost to too easy to plunder their possessions. I might have stayed there forever, had it not been for the monkey incident."

A Page from Reaver's Diary (3/5):

"I am filled with a wonderful weariness tonight. My bedroom is far too crowded to get a good night's sleep, and I'm too indolent to eject any of my lovely guests. Instead I thought I would sit in my study sipping a restorative beverage, and enjoying my own company.

It reminds me of my very first evening in this house. My bedfellows were fewer and less charming then, but I had less energy left anyways. It isn't every day that one murders a pirate king, and takes his place.

Oh, I had the vigour of youth back then. Real youth. How many must have I killed on my way to this very room? I shall never forget the look on the brigand's face, one so ill-suited to royalty of any kind. How he came to such a position being so slow on the draw is a perfect mystery.

"I received an unusual visitor today, an adventurer who'd toddled in through Wraithmarsh, losing neither life, limb nor sanity on the way.

This alone would have been sufficient to mark him/her as a unique individual, but once I'd learned he'd /she'd escaped from the demented grip of none other then Lord Lucien, I had knew I had quite a catch in my hands.

I sent an emissary to speak with Lucien and came to a lucrative arrangement. Since the time of the tribute is nearing - I can already feel the wrinkles begin to form on my face - I sent the poor sod/cow to the Shadow Court to keep him/her busy. I'm sure the old loon in the Spire won't mind if I post him/her back slightly decrepit. Should make it easier to keep him/her locked up.

I think I'll celebrate my good fortune be commissioning a new portrait. I've heard of a chap with some sort of magical apparatus that renders almost lifelike results. I believe his name was Barnum, I shall have him brought to me today."

A Page from Reaver's Diary (5/5):

"I awoke from the nightmare again. One would think more than two hundred years would suffice to blunt it's steel. But still I see Oakvale devoured by shadows. Still those shrieks fill the air. How much longer must I live before they fall silent?

Such dreams belong to another time. To another man. One who would recoil from the things I've done since that night. Who might even care about all the sacrifices I've offered up to the odious Judges over... over how long? Hundreds of years?

I see that man as he was back then. As beautiful as me, as fiery as me, but so delicate. So breakable. And so afraid of death. I see him summon the Shadow Court into this world, oblivious to the consequences. He asks them for immunity for the disease of time and death, and they grant it.

Then I see him running madly through fields, the realisation of just what price he has unwittingly paid hanging like a tragedy mask from his face. He falls to his knees before the town he called home-- now a dark circus of screams. Hers is among them, but he can do nothing to stop it.

What a weak, despicable man he is. But I am not he. I am Reaver. And I will sleep much better after this chalice of wine."﻿